


the wayfarers

by oryx



Category: Harvest Moon
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:50:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a while, he thinks, since he and happiness were last acquainted. But she brought it back with her, when she showed up at his door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the wayfarers

One day, Jack dies.

Takakura finds him out in the fields, hands still gripping his sickle tightly, as if he’s about to get back up at any moment and finish cutting that last bale of hay. His eyes are closed and his brow furrowed – a man deep in thought about life’s mysteries. His mouth is set in a half-smile, half-frown, like he hasn’t quite made up his mind about dying just yet.

“I’ve lived too much,” Jack had always said, grinning like a damn fool. The edges of his eyes would crease endearingly, like old leather. “I’ve been around the block and back fifteen times by now. But you know what, Takakura? I wouldn’t mind another go.”

Takakura stares at Jack’s corpse for a long time. He keeps expecting him to start breathing again, to sit up and laugh and say, “Sorry, my friend. Just a silly prank. An old man needs to have his fun every once in a while, don’t you think?”

But Jack remains still. His hands which were once so warm, sun-bronzed and rough with calluses, are now cool and waxy to the touch.

Takakura looks out at their farm, the fields and the barn and the animals grazing in the distance. And for the first time in a long time he feels very small and weak. Just an aging man with an aching back, standing alone beneath the forever sky.

(For the first time in a long time he doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring.)

\--

\--

Early one morning, Takakura’s phone rings.

It’s a rare occurrence, to say the least. The piercing sound startles him, breaking through the tranquil silence, and he bangs his bad knee on the underside of the table in his rush to stand up. Grumbling to himself, he hobbles across the room and picks up the receiver.

“Who is this?” he demands, and immediately regrets taking such a brusque tone.

“Oh goodness, I’m so sorry if I disturbed you,” frets the woman on the other line. “Claire told me that morning was probably best, but… Well anyhow, my name is Lillia. I run the poultry farm over here in Mineral Town – perhaps you know if it?”

“Ah… Yes’m, I surely do.”

“Oh, wonderful! Perhaps you also know my son, Rick? He drops by the Valley every Sunday. I also have a daughter named Popuri – she’s the reason I’m calling, actually. She’s turning seventeen this year, if you can believe it!” Lillia sighs wistfully. “They grow up so fast, don’t they?”

“I… I suppose they do, yes,” Takakura says lamely, unsure of what this woman wants from him.

“Oh no, there I go again, taking up your time with pointless chatter! Terrible habit of mine… Must have picked it up from Manna. I suppose I should cut to the chase. Mister Takakura, Claire tells me that you’ve had many years of experience working on a farm. I was wondering if perhaps you might take Popuri under your wing for a while? Rick believes that she doesn’t have the skills necessary to inherit the family business, but neither of us have any free time in which to teach her. I would be ever so grateful if you could take her on as an… apprentice of sorts.”

“An apprentice?” He repeats the words, testing them out carefully. Is he really such a wise individual, to be worthy of an apprentice? Does he truly have so much knowledge to impart? He’s a farmer, a simple man with down-to-earth sensibilities, not some kind of scholar or business professional. But all the same… It would be nice, he thinks. To have someone listen when he spoke. To take his words to heart and keep them there, for some day in the future when they’re needed.

“… just have to teach her the basics of running a successful farm,” Lillia is saying. “How to manage the finances and keep track of supplies and prepare for inclement weather… The girl’s been watching me run the farm since she was a child, but somehow she just never picked up on these things. She’s got her head in the clouds, I suppose. Too busy daydreaming to bother with all the boring details.”

“I’ll do it,” Takakura says abruptly. “I have free time most days, now that Jill’s taken over the farm. So it’s not a hassle or anything.” And I could use the company, are the words he doesn’t say.

“Really?” Lillia exclaims. “Oh thank you, Mister Takakura. I am forever in your debt. Popuri will be positively thrilled when I tell her.”

(Why? he wonders. But that, too, remains unsaid.)

\--

Popuri is a veritable hurricane of charming smiles and bubblegum-pink hair. 

That is what he thinks when she arrives on his doorstep one Sunday morning, beaming at him excitedly and proffering up a plate of homemade cookies. There is something about her animated chatter that truly, deeply gets to him, wearing away his jagged edges little by little. Her rosy-cheeked enthusiasm shatters something inside him that’s been building and building all these long, lonely years, keeping him trapped within himself.

(It’s been a while, he thinks, since he and happiness were last acquainted. It left without so much as a goodbye on that fateful day. But she brought it back with her, when she showed up at his door, and now it seems reluctant to ever wander again.)

Popuri is an excellent student. Sure, her mind is often drifting, and in the middle of a lesson she’ll prattle on about her favorite television show or her friends in Mineral Town or something beautiful she saw, once upon a time. Sure, she tends toward distraction, often becoming preoccupied with fanciful whims and far-fetched ideas, unable to concentrate on anything else until they’ve been put in motion. But she is an excellent student all the same. Because she cares, more so than any teenage girl rightfully should.

“When I was very young,” she says, “everyday my father would take me out to the chicken coop, and I would help him collect all the eggs. He taught me how to count that way, you know. He would say, ‘one egg, two eggs, three… what comes next, Popuri?’” Here, she pauses. Smiles in a way that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I wonder why I remember that, Mister Takakura? Such a silly thing to remember.”

“I don’t think that’s silly at all,” Takakura says quietly, and pours her another cup of tea.

\--

“Today I’m going to decorate your house,” she announces, arms laden with boxes and bags full of goddess-knows-what. She struggles through the door and tosses her wares on the floor with an unceremonious oof.

“Decorate…?” Takakura stares at her from over top his newspaper, confusion evident in his eyes. “Say what now?”

“This house is just so drab!” Popuri exclaims, gesturing towards the bare white walls and sparse furniture. “It needs to be vibrant! It needs to brighten your mood when you wake up in the morning, instead of bringing you down. So I’m going to redecorate!” She puts a hand on her hip and strikes a resolute pose. “By the time I’m finished here, you won’t even recognize this boring old place. I guarantee it.”

“But… We were supposed to go over tax returns and agricultural subsidies today,” Takakura says. (That’s really all you’re objecting to? whispers a voice in the back of his mind.)

“Oh please, Mister Takakura.” Popuri shakes her head exasperatedly. “There’s plenty of time to blather on about tax returns in the future. The interior aesthetics of your home are of much greater importance! Why, I don’t know if I’d even be able to learn, surrounded by such a dingy and depressing environment. Now shoo! Come back in a few hours and be amazed by the transformation!”

Before he can so much as protest, he is being led by the arm and pushed out the door, leaving him stranded like a vagabond on his own front stoop. Jill, passing by on her way to the barn, raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Having some renovations done, Mister Takakura?” she asks, and chuckles quietly to herself as she strolls away. “Let’s just hope she doesn’t tear down any walls in the process, eh?”

He sighs.

This is going to be a long, long day.

\--

“It’s very…” His voice trails off as he searches for the right word.

She looks at him expectantly, eyes wide and glittering with anticipation.

“… Bright,” he finishes. “Yes. Very bright indeed.”

And bright it most definitely is. Somehow, in the brief few hours he was gone, Popuri has transformed his plain, run-down cottage into something straight from a storybook. The dusty old draperies have been replaced by elegant curtains with a lacy blue trim. On the walls hang all kinds of lovely artwork, some of it seemingly made by Popuri herself. A hand-sewn cloth with a quaint checkered pattern hides the tarnished wood of his dining table, and freshly cut sunflowers are arranged neatly in a glass vase. She’s even managed to paint his entire bookshelf with a pattern of blue sky and white clouds.

“You like it, don’t you?” Popuri claps her paint-smudged hands together happily. “I knew you would! In my expert opinion, even the saddest person just needs some color to liven up their mood.”

Takakura reaches out and touches one of the sunflowers – rubs a petal between his fingers and marvels at how soft and delicate it is. (He’s spent his whole damn life surrounded by things that grow, things that he himself planted in the soil, but he’s never really stopped to look. Have flowers always been this beautiful?)

“Thank you, Popuri,” he says quietly. “I think this may be the nicest thing a person’s ever done for me.”

And she laughs, too young and naïve to understand that’s he’s not joking.

“The shelf should be dry by now,” she says. “I’ll put your books away.” One by one she begins to stack them, his musty old cookbooks and farm equipment manuals and dog-eared paperback novels that he bought twenty years ago and never got around to reading. Suddenly he sees, out of the corner of his eye, something fall out of one of the books and flutter to the floor. A photograph, yellowed around the edges with age. Popuri bends down and picks it up. She bites her lip as she stares at it – tilts her head to the side quizzically. 

“Mister Takakura, who is this man?”

She slides the photograph across the table and he feels a sudden pain in his chest, sharp and terrible, like a rusty knife being twisted. 

It’s strange to think that he and Jack were young once. That there was a time before wrinkles and aching backs and rheumatism in the joints. A time before Jack’s heart began to beat to an irregular rhythm. In the photo, they are standing in front of their newly-constructed silo. Took months and months to build the damn thing, if Takakura recalls correctly. And all for naught, he supposes. Stupid thing went and got itself blown over by a freak hurricane that fall. He can’t call it a waste, though. Jack wouldn’t. 

Jack is wearing those old threadbare overalls that Takakura remembers so well – with his broad-rimmed hat and sturdy work boots he looks every inch the farmer. There is a wide smile on his tanned face, the kind that made him look quite devilish, and his arm is slung around his friend’s shoulders. Takakura’s young self looks rather sheepish (he never did like to be photographed), but there is something in his eyes that gives away his happiness. It was such a nice day, he remembers. A perfect day, even. The kind of day you want to capture and hold on to, since such perfection is fleeting.

Takakura clears his throat; tucks the photo into his breast pocket for safekeeping.

“He was a friend,” he says, and his voice wavers precariously. “A very good friend indeed.”

\--

\--

He is explaining the detailed ins and outs of mechanical maintenance when she suddenly bursts in tears. 

It quite nearly gives him a heart attack; one moment she is serious and attentive, jotting down notes in her pocketbook, and the next she is bawling, tears rolling down her cheeks in gleaming rivulets. She puts her head down and cries into his tablecloth, and Takakura pats her arm awkwardly until her sobs fade away into sad little sniffles.

“Are… Are you alright, Popuri?” he asks. She’s always such a happy-go-lucky girl. Always smiling at something-or-other, no matter the troubles that plague her. He’s never seen her this way before, and it scares him.

“Kai sent me a letter,” is her muffled reply. “He’s completely broke – says he decided to gamble, just to test his luck, and he ended up losing everything. He says… that he might not be able to visit Mineral Town this year. But what if it’s just an excuse, you know? What if he met a girl? Someone prettier than me?” She sits up abruptly, red-rimmed eyes wide with worry. “What if he’s just tired of me, and he never wants to see me again!?”

Of course, Takakura thinks, and sits back with a sigh. Of course it’s Kai again. This foolish boy seems to be the main cause of Popuri’s problems these days. When he’s there, he says all the wrong things at exactly the wrong time. When he’s gone, she spends her days pining for him, eagerly awaiting his return, allowing her unrealistic expectations to soar and reach new heights. The kind of relationship that was doomed from the start, in Takakura’s opinion.

“You’re too young to have a boyfriend,” he grumbles.

Popuri folds her arms across her chest defensively. “That’s what Rick says. But I’m seventeen years old! I’m mature enough to make my own decisions, thank you very much.”

“Well at the very least find yourself someone more reliable! Lost all his money gambling… Hmph.”

Silence falls. Takakura averts his eyes away from Popuri, who is glaring at him like he’s some kind of traitor. 

Seconds tick by, and then minutes, and finally her anger drifts away. She slumps against the table despairingly.

“Rick says Kai is ‘flighty and irresponsible.’ He says he’s a player who probably has other girlfriends in other towns. But I don’t think that’s true. Kai isn’t always the best person, but he isn’t like that. Not at all. And even if you and Rick and my mom think it’s just a silly teenage crush, it doesn’t matter, because I do love Kai. Really, I do. We’ve talked about getting married someday, once he learns how to save money. And then we’ll travel all over the world together.”

Takakura blinks. He stares down at the girl, slowly processing her words. “You mean… You don’t want to take over the poultry farm?”

“Oh goddess, no!” Popuri shakes her head vehemently. “I can’t possibly spend my whole life in Mineral Town. Not when there are so many beautiful places out there, across the sea and far away. Kai’s told me stories, you know. He’s been to the beaches of the Sunshine Islands, and the bazaar in Zephyr Town, and the secluded mountain village Konohana. I want to see everything myself, though. ‘Travel while you’re young!’ Isn’t that what people say?”

“… When did you decide on this, Popuri? To travel, I mean.”

“Hmm? Oh, um… a few months ago, I think.”

“And yet you still come here every Sunday morning?”

“Well of course I do,” Popuri says matter-of-factly. “Because even if you are a bit grumpy sometimes, you’re still my dearest friend.”

\--

“I wonder,” she says, and taps her chin thoughtfully. “Have you ever been married, Mister Takakura?”

He quite nearly drops his fishing rod, and has to scramble to regain his composure. They’re sitting on end of the old, rickety pier; Popuri has taken off her shoes and is trailing her feet in the water, causing lazy circles to ripple outwards. It’s a sweltering day – the air is muggy and thick, making every breath difficult – but the beads of sweat on Takakura’s brow have little to do with the heat.

“I guess I’ve just been thinking about marriage a lot lately,” Popuri admits. She curls a strand of pink hair around her finger distractedly. “And you’re such a nice man, Mister Takakura. I’m sure you were popular with the girls when you were younger.”

He tugs his cap down over his eyes, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “Nah, not really,” he mutters. “I was too gangly and awkward in those days. I never quite learned how to talk to women, if you know what I mean. There was a person I loved, many years ago… But they found someone else in the end. It was probably for the best, I suppose. They wouldn’t have been happy with me.”

“And you never moved on?”

“Well, I… I guess I never did, no.”

“That’s so sad,” Popuri murmurs. “If you ask me, unrequited love is the greatest tragedy of all.”

A seagull wheels overhead, casting a fleeting shadow across the sun. The push and pull of the incoming tide causes the pier to sway back and forth beneath them, its waterlogged planks groaning like a dying animal. It reminds him of a day nearly fifty years ago, when he and Jack sat in this very same spot, planning out their ideal lives. They’d planned to buy a boat, to name it the Anne-Marie after Jack’s baby sister. They’d planned to sail around the globe, to see everything the world had to offer. What happened to those dreams? Takakura wonders. When did we decide that this was enough?

“The fish don’t seem very interested today,” Popuri comments, snapping him out of his reverie. “We’ve been out here for more than an hour and you haven’t had a single bite!”  
Takakura nods absentmindedly and reels in his line, only to find that some crafty fish has stolen his bait.

\--

\--

She’s cut her hair.

It’s a bit of a shock, really. Popuri had always seemed so proud of her long pink curls, running her fingers through them when she thought no one was watching, smiling to herself as they sprung back into place.

“I’ve been growing my hair out since I was seven,” she’d once said, flipping it over her shoulder with a kind of haughty elegance. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

And now it’s all gone, just like that, lopped off at the ears and straightened to create a pixie-like bob.

Popuri laughs nervously, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. “It’s a bit different, I know,” she says. “But I was in the mood for a change. The hairdresser in the city said it’d make me look more mature. A person to take seriously, she said. What do you think, Mister Takakura?”

(Suddenly he understands what Lillia said to him those three years ago. They grow up much too fast, and before you know it they’re an adult and they’re walking out the door, leaving you stranded on the side of the road with dust clouding your eyes. You tell them to go, to follow their dreams and do everything you never got a chance to, but inside you’re begging them to please, please stay.)

“Going somewhere?” he asks, changing the subject hurriedly. There is a suitcase by her feet and a duffel bag slung across her shoulder, and he can see excitement gleaming in her eyes.

“A trip,” she says. “To everywhere, really. I think I might head to Leaf Valley first – it’s only a day’s train ride away, and I hear the foliage there is lovely this time of year.”

“… What about Kai?”

To her credit, her smile hardly wavers. “Kai decided to settle down,” she says. “I’m happy for him, you know? He and Claire are good together. I think they were always meant to be – they just refused to see it.”

“You don’t have to force yourself to smile,” Takakura says quietly. “You can cry if you want.”

But Popuri shakes her head. “I’ve done enough of that already, I’m afraid. It’s starting to get old. ‘Why cry when you can laugh it all away?’ That’s what my dad used to say.”

Takakura can feel a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but his heart is heavy all the same.

“I guess this goodbye for now, Popuri,” he says. “You’ll come back and visit an old man, won’t you?”

“Of course I will. But actually, I think I have a better idea…”

She reaches over and presses something into his palm. It’s a train ticket, much like the one she clasps in her own hand. A one-way train ticket to the Eastern Shore, where the fishermen moor their colorful schooners and the smell of the ocean permeates everything with its bitter, salty tang. The time of departure: eight thirty tomorrow morning. No time to prepare. No time to fret. No time to tell the neighbors where he’s going and why. He looks up at Popuri in awe and finds her grinning like a madwoman, much like Jack used to do when they were young.

“Bon voyage, Takakura,” she says.

And then she turns and walks out the door.

\--

\--

One day, Jack dies.

(Eight years later, at a windswept beach on the Eastern Shore, Takakura learns how to live again.)


End file.
